first thing
vayne altapascine
do you see the wrinkles of your
fingertip joints, the soft bundling of skin
where i kiss them softly and you
slip by my side?
these hallways are scruffy and rubber shoes
trace black skids, hidden there
our fingers wrapped together
between these grey slacks and your
slip-stretched pencil skirt
a closed clasping, curt and sincere hands
writing drowsy in betweens where
we were aloft, floating filled with just enough
to be quiet,
so slowly, gently crossing into each other's
fragmenting homes,
where rivers are still and oceans flow into
the drought of scarring hearts
and didn’t you know it, darling:
we were awake only at the same time?
rarely have i brought worlds back to life,
but for you, i make this bedroom whole:
i tear open this world and become
somewhere for you to cook dinner in,
to sleep on the couch, to ask for coffee,
and slowly, make opening my bedroom door
your first thing tomorrow.
i am silly for believing. maybe.
but these are good things.
who said we couldn’t make this
every good thing we missed?